Begonias, Rocket Ships and a Boy Named Billy
by 09999999
Summary: A short series of glimpses into Neville Longbottom's childhood, and how a very special friend influenced the way he taught his students at Hogwarts nearly twenty years later. Heartwarming one-shot!


Neville had been tending his begonias. He remembered feeling happy, no, _glad_ on that morning, a bright day in May; he could recall the tinkling of his grandmother's chimes, punctuated by the buzzing of bees and the squabbling of garden gnomes. These audial childhood memories were, oddly, the most poignant ones. Neville couldn't recall the particular hue of the flowers, or what he'd been wearing that day - though a sweater, rolled up trousers and no socks was a likely guess. That was his typical gardening attire to date, even now as Professor of Herbology at Hogwarts, which wasn't at all as uppity as it sounded.

He'd been tottering about in the flower beds, a mere boy of eight. His chubby arms struggled to maintain their grasp around a too-big, too-full bucket of rainwater; he'd been sloshing water all down his front, no doubt. And that was when, if his memory served him correctly, he first met Billy.

Billy, a boy in the neighborhood whom Neville had never seen before, had been striding down the lane, hands shoved into his pockets, whistling. Neville had looked up and watched the boy - in his eyes, a lanky, confident chap of the world - pass by. He would've walked around the corner and right out of sight had Neville not suddenly lost his hold on the bucket and dropped it with a terrific _crash-slosh-OWWW!_ \- for the thing had landed, mercilessly, on his poor pinky toe.

Neville had been too busy grimacing and moaning in agony to notice the boy striding through his grandmother's open gate and straight up to him - until the chap was standing over him, thumping him on the shoulder. It was a kindly thump, less of a "walk it off, cry baby," type thump and more of a "that's right miserable, mate" type thump. After having been thoroughly startled by the boy's sudden presence and gesture, Neville greatly appreciated that thump.

That thump was the beginning of a wonderful friendship, one that twenty-seven year-old Professor Longbottom still looked back on with fondness and a tinge of regret, for it had ended too soon. Before both his and Billy's childhoods were even half over. But it was _smashing_ while it lasted.

"So, er, do you have any… gnomes in your garden?" Neville had asked Billy tentatively later that afternoon, as they sat dangling their feet over the creek. They'd found an excellent spot in the forest behind their neighborhood - a conveniently fallen tree that had formed a fairy tale-like bridge.

Neville had thought long and hard about how to discern if Billy was a Muggle. He'd never met a Muggle before - he and his Gran only shopped and dined in Wizarding establishments when they went into town - so he wasn't sure how to _tell_. The boy was wearing Muggle clothing, but so was Neville. (Wizarding children, even back then, rarely went about in robes like their parents, if they could help it.)

He'd finally decided on gnomes. Yes, that was safe, because he'd once seen porcelain garden gnomes in a Muggle shop window. It had been in passing - a quick, curious glance before his Gran had bustled him along. When he later asked her, she'd said Muggles kept _fake_ gnomes in their gardens. ("Hmph, they don't know gnomes are a real nuisance. Garden decorations, indeed.")

Thinking back, Professor Longbottom thought asking Billy about gnomes, of all things, had been a right clever and pretty sly idea. Especially since he'd only been eight at the time! _Well done, little Neville._

He couldn't remember Billy's exact response, but it must've been something like

" _Yea, my mother keeps 'em and I'm always trippin' over the stupid little things,"_

or

" _No, why're you askin' be about garden gnomes, aren't you peculiar fella?"_

because Neville had decided that his newfound friend _was_ , in fact, a Muggle.

And that he ought not to tell his grandmother.

"Oi! Neville! Come out!" Billy had whispered, tapping rapidly on Neville's bedroom window late one night, some weeks after they've first made each other's acquaintance.

(Which, in Neville's patchwork memory, had come about after he'd gotten over the terrible pain in his pinky toe, and Billy had refilled his watering bucket for him and helped him lug it through the garden, splashing begonias and daisies and snapdragons - "'M name's Billy, by the way," "I'm Neville, how do you do?" "Pretty fine, Neville, pretty fine. How's the toe?"

They'd become the greatest of friends after that encounter, spending many an afternoon working together in Neville's garden, or gallivanting around their neighborhood, exchanging jokes - Billy knew all the best ones - and running foot races - Billy usually won. But Neville enjoyed himself immensely all the same.)

Neville, jolted awake by Billy's racket and fearing his grandmother's awakening, had scampered quickly out of bed and dashed to the window. He had waved his hands and shook his head, wide-eyed, mouthing "my Gran! my Gran!" but Billy hadn't gotten the message. The bigger boy - he fairly towered over Neville by a good four inches, though he was narrow-faced and skinny as a kitten - had continued knocking insistently, until Neville had had no choice but to unlock the window and let the boy shimmy through the opening.

"Be quiet!" Neville had shushed urgently. "My Gran'll wake and she'll be spittin'!"

"I'm quiet, I'm quiet," Billy had whispered. "Relax, alright? Don'tcha wanna go on an adventure with me?"

"And adventure?" Neville had echoed. What an enthralling word, _adventure_. Enthralling and slightly terrifying. "Is it good?"

What he'd meant by that, of course, was _Is it safe?_ and _Will I get into trouble?_ An adventure sounded just fine and dandy, but if it meant facing his Gran's wrath as a consequence? Count him out.

"Of course it's good, it's great!" Billy had exclaimed in a too-loud whisper. "Have ya ever been night fishin' before, kid?"

"I've never even been plain old fishing," Neville had replied, to Billy's great dismay. The boy shook his head pityingly.

"Alright, chap, let's go then. Never been fishin'? What a wonder."

Looking back, Neville highly doubted his ability, as the big-boned fellow he'd been at eight years old, to climb through his bedroom window as Billy had so easily done. Which meant the two of them, the young rascals, must've tip-toed through the house to exit out the front door. It was a miracle his grandmother hadn't caught them.

They'd raced down the lane, into the forest (which, now that Neville considered it, probably hadn't been much of a forest at all, but more of an overgrowth of blackberry bushes and ivy entwined around a few old trees) and slid down a (miniature) ravine, dirtying their pyjama bottoms, to reach the creek. Billy kept his fishing poles, a spool of twine, hooks and a jar of bait hidden in a fern bush nearby.

Neville hadn't even known how to hold a fishing pole properly, but Billy - though at first horrified by Neville's ignorance - had proved a patient instructor. He'd taught him how to string the pole, fastening the hook and bait the worm. Neville had long since forgotten those skills, he had never forgotten the sense of pride and accomplishment Billy helped him achieve that night when he caught his first fish.

(A minnow, no doubt, and it couldn't have been longer than his thumb. For their "creek," like their "forest," had been mostly imagined and tiny in reality.)

But it had been an Adventure. Perhaps even Neville's very first one.

"You haven't heard about rocket ships?" Billy had asked, incredulous. Neville wasn't sure when or where this memory fit into his childhood timeline, but Billy teaching him about rockets and space was one of his dearest memories of all.

"No?" Neville had replied, worried. _Should_ he have known? Was this a Muggle thing, or was he really a Very Ignorant Child? Could he even hope to understand? "What are they?" he asked earnestly.

Billy had slapped his knee in disbelief, chuckled a bit, and then launched full-force into a detailed and animated explanation. For everything he said, Neville had another question.

 _What's space?_

 _What's the atmosphere?_

 _What're astronauts?_

 _What's a satellite?_

And Billy had all the answers. Space was his passion. He explained the solar system, the earth's spheres, the movements of the moon and the advancement of space travel. The two boys had talked for hours that day, leaving no moon rock uncovered. Neville had been enamoured with Billy's knowledge, the way he'd rattle off one explanation after the next, and miraculously, he helped Neville understand. Not at first - not at all! - but slowly, surely, Billy realized he ought to go back to the basics and build from there.

He hadn't asked why Neville didn't seem to know anything about astronomy. Not once. Neville just kept asking questions and Billy just kept answering them. This became their favorite pastime between them. And, as it turned out, Billy had gaps in his knowledge, too, that Neville was happy to fill - mostly pertaining to gardening and weather prediction and the benefit of slugs. (Things Neville had figured out for himself, having been gardening since he was old enough to toddle about in the yard.)

Neville remembered being utterly inspired, and completely appalled that there was so _much_ to know. Billy had told him he learned everything from books, and that he'd bring Neville his favorite science and space volumes. Neville had been so, _so_ excited to read those volumes.

Unfortunately, he'd never had the chance.

"Why, hello, who's this young lad?" Neville panicked at the sound of his grandmother's voice over his shoulder and, with a pang, he realized it was too late. Too late to hide Billy, or warn him, or tell him not to say a word or ask questions. His Gran had sprung upon the two boys talking, sitting criss-cross in a row of raspberries behind Neville's house. Perhaps they'd been planning their next Great Adventure, Neville couldn't remember now. Whatever they'd been scheming, it never became a reality. Or perhaps Billy had done it with another friend, after he'd been banished from Neville's house.

Yes, _banished_. Neville had introduced Billy to his grandmother, having no choice, and Billy had, unconsciously, said quite enough to clue her in to his Muggle-ness. She'd asked Billy a few questions about his family and where he lived, and quick as a wink, she'd sent him home, saying Neville had to wash up for supper, though it wasn't even close to suppertime.

Neville forgave his Gran, of course. He held no grudge against her for what she did. She'd thought she was protecting her grandson. She certainly wasn't a Muggle hater, but she didn't understand them, either, and that scared her. She'd done what she did with the best intentions.

But that was the end of Neville's first friendship.

Professor Longbottom sighed as he watered Greenhouse Number One's Puffapods and awaited the arrival of his next class - Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw, first years. As the students streamed into the greenhouse and took their places around their work tables, putting on their aprons and gloves, a brilliant idea popped into the Professor's mind. Silently, he thanked Billy for the inspiration.

"Good morning, class. Today we'll be discussing photosynthesis. Can anyone tell me what that is?" he smiled, scanning the blank, young faces turned up at him. Finally, a little girl with plaited hair, standing in the far back, raised a tentative hand.

"I learned about it primary school, Professor," she ventured when Neville nodded at her. "It's a… Muggle science."

Her friends looked at her in bewilderment. A few students Neville knew to be Purebloods chortled unkindly; he silenced them with a warning look. A few others - Muggleborns, Neville guessed - nodded knowingly.

"Very good, Sandy. Ten points to Hufflepuff. Sandy and any other Muggleborns familiar with this topic will be teaching class today, with a bit of my help." His students stared at him, various expressions of confusion, disbelief and irritation etched across their faces. Neville simply smiled and motioned for Sandy to come forward. He handed her a piece of chalk and nodded encouragingly.

Sandy took a deep breath and began to explain.

The children practically ran their own class that day, and though Neville was occasionally waved over to answered questions or settle debates, he spent the majority of the class period meandering between the workbenches, listening and observing as each student, in his or her own time, began to swallow the notion that "Muggle" science could be valuable, even fascinating.

After Sandy had given a brief, pictorial overview of the photosynthetic process, with minimal prompting from Neville when her memory failed her, a chorus of questions rose from the classroom. Sandy, from the front, handled the chaos admirably. She suggested all the Muggleborns stand up and disperse themselves about the room, so that there was at least one for every bench. From there, the longest and most enthusiastic class discussion Neville had ever witnesses in his three years of teaching commenced. By the end of the period, most groups had moved away from the topic of photosynthesis entirely, and on to related sciences - the nitrogen cycle, types of habitats, plant classification, and more.

When the class was officially over, many students - Muggleborns, Halfbloods, and Purebloods alike - hung back to ask their Professor where they could find more information. Knowing that the Hogwarts library's Muggle Studies section was limited at best, Professor Longbottom assured his students that he would take the issue to the Headmistress, and that they would have scientific encyclopedias and journals in their hands before the week was out.

He was determined that his students should get those volumes.


End file.
